


you're a wonder (unfortunately)

by constellationsofsentences



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempt at Humor, F/F, Good Slytherins, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, Not Epilogue Compliant, POV Pansy Parkinson, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-02-21 17:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18706660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/constellationsofsentences/pseuds/constellationsofsentences
Summary: Ginny Weasley has a face like thunder.It’s a very attractive face, but still thunderous, as she jabs a finger out accusingly and says, “If you’re gonna slag off Ron, at least do it somewhere I can’t hear you.”





	you're a wonder (unfortunately)

Ginny Weasley has a face like thunder.

It’s a very attractive face, but still thunderous, as she jabs a finger out accusingly and says, “If you’re gonna slag off Ron, at least do it somewhere I can’t hear you.”

Pansy pauses by the wizarding rock aisle. She half-expects the words to be directed at her, but instead some Mohawk-y loser glares back at her. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Ginny Weasley, at your service,” she says, mockingly. “Who the fuck are _you_?”

The loser pales. “Oh. Oh, sorry.”

“Yeah? You didn’t sound sorry just now. Maybe I should call Ron, so you can apologise in person. It’s not like he helped save the world, or anything.”

Pansy can appreciate when somebody is about to be viciously wrecked. She puts down the record she’s holding.

Mohawk Loser is stammering. “I just—“

“You just? You just what, shitbag? You just thought that nobody would care that you were being a dick about somebody who cared enough to save your fucking life? You just thought that it would be a good idea to shit all over somebody who fought a mass-murderer? You should just sit down, my friend, because he was doing all that stuff at _twelve,_ and where were you? Sitting on your arse, learning how to talk shit, _badly_ , might I add.”

This is spectacular. Mohawk is clearly losing his mind. His friends are all inching away from him. He says, “Sorry.”

“No shit,” says Ginny, with a pointed look at the door. Mohawk seems to get the message. He vanishes like a mouse into its hole, his friends muttering behind him as they follow. The rest of the customers titter in awe, as Ginny murmurs, “What a tit,” and glumly throws her chin into her hand.

Normally, Pansy wouldn’t be one to venture into a war zone, but she really wants this record, and is due for lunch with Blaise in twenty minutes. She gingerly makes her way forward, and slides the record onto the counter. Ginny picks it up and raises a thick eyebrow. “Weird Sisters, huh?”

Pansy shrugs, raising her own eyebrow in response. “How much?”

“Ugh, um. Five galleons, three sickles.”

Pansy dumps the coins onto the table.

“Want a bag?”

Pansy smiles her most shark-like smile. “No, thank you. Have a good day.”

She can feel Ginny’s eyes on her all the way to the door. She thinks: _victory,_ but she isn’t sure what she’s won.

 

Blaise is doing his very best impression of a celebrity on their favourite beach in Beverly Hills, even crammed into this tiny café in the middle of London. He has a talent for making his surroundings look expensive. “Life is terrible,” he laments, fanning himself with his loose shirt. “Theo is not talking to me.”

“What did you do this time?”

He flashes a smile, all white teeth. “Nothing!”

Pansy places a manicured hand on the table, and says serenely: “You need to stop getting into fights with him, and fuck him.”

An old lady turns to look scandalised. Pansy shrugs at her. “It’s the way of the world.”

“Like you’re an expert,” sniffs Blaise. “When was your last girlfriend? Two, three years ago?”

She shoves him. “I saw Ginny Weasley today.”

“Interesting choice of segue.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck _her._ ”

“No, seriously, fuck you.”

“Fuck who?” says a voice, and there’s Theo. Blaise resolutely looks away.

“Nobody,” says Pansy.

“Ginny,” says Blaise, because he can’t resist an opportunity to ridicule her.

Theo’s eyes widen. “ _Weasley?_ ”

“Yeah.”

Pansy points at both of them while they snigger behind their hands. “If any of you say a word, I will gut you. She’s hot. She told some guy to piss off. That’s pretty much my entire type. Also, she hates me.”

Theo reaches across to pat her head. “Don’t worry. Most women do.”

Pansy bats his hand away. “Well, whatever. She was a hot cashier, I bought something. End of story.”

“You know,” says Blaise. “Draco’s birthday is coming up. Didn’t he say he really wanted the new Merlin’s Pants album? We should go get it.”

Pansy curses the world viciously. “Merlin’s Pants,” she repeats. “I hate you.”

“It’s very popular. We’ll have to go quickly. Probably before Weasley’s shift is even over,” says Blaise, with the shit-eating grin he reserves only for when Theo is laughing at his jokes.

“Merlin’s Pants. That’s a very accurate expression for how I am currently feeling, you know,” Pansy says, but she gets up all the same.

 

Pansy is, she thinks, frankly a hero. She maintains her composure as she walks up to the counter where Ginny’s face is one of surprise, but not, Pansy notes, contempt.

Not that she’d be bothered if it was, she reminds herself.

“We’re looking for the new Merlin’s Pants album.”

Ginny raises her eyes. “Uh, okay. I can, uh, take you.”

“That’s okay,” says Theo, his frankly menacing grin mirroring Blaise’s. “Just tell us the aisle. Pansy’s not feeling very well. She might have to wait with you while we get it.”

Pansy smiles, and, with all the grace and nonchalance a lady can manage, shoves her middle finger in his direction.

He only smiles wider.

Her fate is probably inescapable.

“Okay. Uh, it’s in Wizarding Rock. It’s that way.” She points. Blaise nods, and drags Theo, chortling, off to some far corner of the shop to revel in Pansy’s misery.

“Never have I _ever_ ,” Pansy calls after him, sweetly, “hated anyone more than I do now.”

“Harsh words,” says Ginny. Her nails are painted green, which seems oddly ironic to Pansy. They’re chipped and aging and, _god,_ does Weasley have nice hands. “What did they do to deserve them?”

There’s nothing better than the truth. “I may have told them I thought you were fit. Accidentally.”

Ginny looks a little nonplussed. “Oh.”

“Yeah, well, they’re terrible, so they thought coming here, _now_ , would be a good idea.” She looks to Blaise, who immediately makes a big show of dithering and presenting albums to Theo. “See?”

“Wow,” says Ginny. “I’m trying to imagine Harry doing that for me, and I really can’t.”

“Maybe he’s got more subtlety about it.”

Ginny laughs. Ginny’s laugh is a beautiful, beautiful thing. She throws her whole body into it, head tipped back, mouth wide. “Harry wouldn’t know subtlety if it hit him in the face with a brick.”

“He and Blaise would have been good friends, then.”

Ginny coughs. “Uh, yeah.”

“Well,” says Pansy. “You know. If we hadn’t, like. Well, you know what. Sorry.”

Ginny taps a slender finger against the desk. Pansy imitates the gesture, tapping a less-freckled finger against her collarbone with a sigh. Of _course_ she’d gone and fucked up. Of _course._

Theo, in his ever-wondrous magnanimity, finally swoops in to save her.  “Pansy, can you believe the Pants have such a _fantastic_ discography? So much choice… it took us so long to decide.”

Pansy says, “I am going to eat you,” just as Ginny says, “Nobody calls them that.”

Theo’s grin widens. “Well, we’re getting this one.”

There’s a very historically inaccurate diagram of what Merlin’s Pants may have actually looked like on the cover, as well as what appears to be a drawing of Merlin having an orgasm, or possibly being stabbed. Pansy can’t decide. She also can’t think of anything Draco would want less. Possibly, this is the point.

Ginny accepts the payment Theo offers wordlessly, except for a toneless, basic _Thanks_ as Theo sweeps his prize into his arms.

“What did you say?” says Theo.

“I accidentally brought up the fact that we used to support mass-murderers. Or,like, reminded her of that fact. You know, classic mistake.”

Blaise, who has materialised out of somewhere, laughs in her face.

Theo says, not very consolingly, “At least you don’t support a megalomaniac _any more_.”

 

Draco is, understandably, astounded by his present. “Wow,” he says.

Blaise laughs.

“Wow,” he says again.

They are sitting in a shitty wizarding bar with sticky floors and far more firewhiskey than they know what to do with. Draco claims that the bartender is fit, and that is why he chose this place. Blaise, who has made up with Theo for the time being, laments loftily the “ridiculousness of singles,” which makes Pansy give him a solid kick to the shin.

“Ah, yes. Pansy had to face her greatest demon in order to get you that album. You should be eternally grateful,” he says at the end.

Draco snorts, still eyeing the drawing, where a shit stain has been carefully labelled. “And that is…”

“Her monstrous crush on Ginny Weasley.” Pansy very tactfully refrains from gouging Blaise’s eyes out in public. It’s rather hard, all things considered. She is more than a little proud of herself.

Draco bursts out laughing. “You’re kidding.”

“Don’t call it a ‘crush’. I’m not twelve,” Pansy complains, sinking into her chair. She blows a strand of hair out of her face. Then, to Draco, she clarifies: “I just think she’s fit! What is so wrong with that?”

“Just… the fact that we used to bully her ex-boyfriend? And her brother? Or has that slipped your mind?”

Pansy really is considering murder. She wonders if a life-sentence in Azkaban would be worth it, and decides she’s a good enough witch that she could probably move to Croatia, or maybe Bosnia, and live a secluded life on the run post-murder anyway.

It’s at this point that a very familiar crowd begin to file in through the door. Draco goes red and says, quietly, “Oh, no.”

Pansy whirls on him accusingly.

“If you’d just _told me,_ ” he says, his whine almost like a child’s, “I would have picked somewhere else.”

Pansy wonders if she’s somehow managed to anger the Gods. She sighs. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” says Draco. Then, watching as Ron Weasley notices him and frowns: “It might not actually be the barman who I think is fit.”

Blaise barks a laugh so sharp that the entire Dumbledore’s Army reunion (because that’s what it seems to be) turns and attempts to look both intimidating and like they don’t at all care. Only Ginny looks unperturbed. She takes a swig from the beer she’s somehow managed to produce already and winks— _winks—_ at Pansy. Ron looks horrified.

Really, Pansy should have realised. Turning to her left to hide the growing strawberry-ness of her face, she can see a framed photo of Ginny high-fiving a red-faced Michael Corner who she probably just absolutely slaughtered at pool. (Ginny _really_ needs to stop absolutely slaughtering men in public. It’s really very hard on Pansy’s health.) She sighs, and then notices that there is a hot girl incoming, and by hot girl, she means Ginny.

Ginny smiles toothily. “How’s Merlin’s Pants? My personal favourite is ‘Dicks Out for Arthur’.”

Pansy hums. “To be honest, I prefer ‘Time to Take Merlin’s Pants _Off_ ’, but it’s definitely a close second.”

Draco looks appalled. “You spent actual money on this?”

Blaise winks. Theo tries his best to look apologetic. He does not succeed. “It’s our most popular album,” offers Ginny. “Number one on the wizarding charts. Celestina’s down to number two, unfortunately.”

“Eh,” says Theo, “she’s old news. What _I_ want to hear is songs about that time Arthur and Merlin had a threesome with Morgana.”

Draco’s expression deepens. “There’s no way that’s real.”

“Track five,” Blaise says easily, leaning back in his chair. Draco puts his face in his hands, appropriately miserable. _Karma,_ Pansy thinks.

“I want another beer,” says Ginny. “Pansy, will you come with?”

Pansy most certainly will. She salutes Theo, and ignores the sexual gestures Blaise is making, daintily, with a grin.

 

The bartender winks at Ginny and produces two beers from somewhere. They sit across from each other at a tiny table in the corner. Their knees bump.

“This is a cool place,” says Pansy, because she is suddenly incredibly lame. Since when has she not known what to say to a girl? She looks at the wall to hide the embarrassment.

Ginny seems to sense it anyway. She shrugs. She’s wearing a loose tank top that shows off her shoulders, and all that muscle is really distressing Pansy.

“I don’t know. We used to come here a lot, after we all graduated. Nice to be away from the Wizarding World, for a bit. And now Harry uses it to make sure we all stay in touch, because Harry is a bastard with too many friends.”

“Side effect of being famous, I guess,” Pansy offers.

Ginny raises an eyebrow. Even her eyebrows are sexy. Pansy is well and truly fucked.

“I guess,” she echoes.

Zacharias Smith is nursing a beer at the bar. He gives Pansy his best suspicious look before striding over to meet them. “Ginny,” he says, imperiously, in the way only people who think they are better than everyone else do, “what are you doing?”

Ginny smiles at Zacharias for a second. Then she raises her middle finger like a salute.

Zacharias seems to get the hint. He flounces off, doing his best to make sure everyone knows he is still very important.

“You’d rather talk to me than Zacharias Smith? That’s a high honour.”

“Yeah, well, your conversation may be a lot worse but at least you’re pretty,” Ginny says.

It’s a lot like flirting. Surprised, Pansy laughs. “Beauty _does_ get you everywhere.”

Ginny seems to run out of steam at this point, because she glances back at her friends, all of whom are watching her with wide eyes, but frantically look away when they realise they’ve been caught. Pansy, frankly, has no idea how they managed to win the war. Even Potter has the subtlety of a giraffe singing the national anthem. She tells Ginny this, which makes her chuckle softly.

“Maybe we should go somewhere more private, then,” she says, and _Oh, Merlin_. Pansy is fairly certain Ginny licks her lips, but she is also fairly certain this entire situation is a delusional hallucination, so it doesn’t count for much.

“What about your private army?” she asks, nodding her head towards the gaggle of people who are very decisively not looking at them. Ron is even very unsubtly showing off his biceps while making what he clearly thinks are menacing glances in their direction. Pointedly, Pansy helps Ginny with her jacket. His eyes narrow. Pansy grins at him.

 

Ginny’s apartment is not quite what Pansy expected. It’s altogether too brown and too grandma-like for her. “Neville’s my roommate,” she explains. “He did most of the interior decorating.”

That makes more sense. Pansy laughs.

It’s at this point that Ginny kisses her. Pansy can taste her laughter, and her heart jumps and leaps and does a few cartwheels. She thinks, dimly, that this is the sort of feeling they write novels about.

“Come on,” says Ginny. “Let’s go.”

Pansy says, “Well, to be honest, I’d much rather talk to Neville about his design choices.”

“Shut up,” Ginny laughs. “Come on.”

 

There’s a freckle at the base of her neck, right between the collarbones. Pansy kisses it.

She kisses all the other freckles adorning her body too – or tries to, but she only gets as far as Ginny’s left shoulder before she’s pulled back up into a kiss.

She can feel the movement of Ginny’s lungs as she breathes. “You,” she says, “are a wonder.”

Pansy huffs out a laugh. “Jesus. You sap.”

“Well,” says Ginny. “Yeah.” She tucks her face against Pansy’s with a sigh.

“You’re a wonder, too. Unfortunately.”

She feels Ginny’s lips curl up into a smile, and turns into it so they’re facing each other. Her eyes glimmer with the future. It makes Pansy’s heart stutter.

Ginny echoes, “Unfortunately.”

“No,” says Pansy. “Not unfortunately at all.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this was going to be much, much longer and much, much angstier but i was having so much fun i decided not to


End file.
